Page 47 of Merciless Queen

As soon as I finally manage a step toward my remaining soldiers, another person walks through the destroyed door. His steps are slow and paced, commanding attention from bothsides as there’s a pause in the fighting. His glare is focused on me before sharp, deadly eyes scan the room, studying the bedlam. An older man, his thick hair a light shade of silver, but in no way could he ever be considered frail and elderly for the way he himself stinks of death and destruction.

Lev twirls a gun he must have picked up at some point until it’s pointed at the intruder, who only smirks in his direction.

“Drop your weapons. Now.”

Lev and Anastasia obviously don’t obey and look toward me for instruction. As do the few soldiers remaining alive. All looking to me for guidance while I’m stuck. This isn’t weapons deals, fighting rings, prostitution, or drug deals. This isn’t hunting Boris down through means of other political ilk. This isn’t even a small battle downtown. This is myhome. The ancient mansion getting trampled on and threatened by strangers in a losing battle.

For the first time in alongtime, I don’t know what to do. Don’t know how to handle this.

What would Papa do?

For fucking once, I want his direction. Not to come up with an answer and do the opposite, but a concrete, definitive plan that’d work.

My hand tightens around my gun’s handle as I scan the room, counting my side versus theirs. Seven, including myself, against eight, nine, ten…fifteen. Almost double the manpower. Thishasto be more than what I counted when rushing from my office. No way, I missed that many bodies.

The newcomer, the presumed leader of this group, smirks and tilts his head, waiting for my answer. He’s assuming I’ll continue fighting, and I want to. More than want, actually.Needto. A driving force demanding I do anything and everything but give up.

But sometimes to yield is to fight.

A temporary submission, as much as it disgusts me, pauses the fighting. Allows us all to breathe and regroup and maybe end this in a cleaner manner. To continue fighting likely means a quick loss, even if admitting that sickens me.

I nod once and repeat the command, this time giving it myself. “Drop your weapons.”

My soldiers drop their guns, instantly obeying my order before their hands lift in submission. Lev moves slower, bending as he stares at me with a question in his gaze. He rests the gun on the ground and kicks it a few inches away—still in reaching distance but the illusion of further—continuing to silently ask me if I’ve lost my mind.

Maybe I have.

Anastasia is the only one who doesn’t move. She stares back, her mouth in a hard line, brows furrowed.

I nod once, silently reassuring her,Trust me. Drop the gun.

Annoyance pours off her in waves that I wish I could bottle and drown the intruders with, but she lowers her weapons, shifting her glare to the presumed leader as they land with aclangon what should be a smooth and shiny tiled foyer. Except now, it’s stained with blood of both enemy and comrades.

Soldiers move toward us and kick all our weapons farther away, making my teeth grit. Naturally they would, and certainly something I’d order my side to do had the tables been turned, but it doesn’t change the fact of it feeling like we’re naked without a stitch of clothing to reach for.

“Good,” the asshole leader murmurs, his deep timbre, and a familiar accent reminding me of the guy I killed earlier and the one I have cuffed to a bed. “Seems you can listen when motivated.” He gestures a hand toward them, crooking his fingers toward the floor. “Now, kneel.”

Fucking Italians.

Their mercenary failed, so they’ve come to finish what Zeno started, and the man giving ordersmustbe Alessandro Vitale, the leader of the Cosa Nostra. I study him intently, memorizing every inch of him so I know who I’ll be cursing from my march here to the afterlife. Every blink of his eyes, every shift of his body, every breath he makes, learning my newest enemy in the only way I can for now.

If only Ivan talked faster and I learned what enticed this war, especially now, after all these years.

Lev, Anastasia, and my soldiers kneel after another glance toward me that I don’t return. Anastasia’s rage is basically vibrating off her, and I wish she left for her private performance earlier than planned so she’d be safe.

Once they’re done, the leader looks my way with a sneer and a rapid gesture. “You too. You think because you call yourself Pakhan that you’re exempt? Typical Russianrifiuto.”

“Ital'yanskaya mraz',” I shoot back.Italian scumis politer than the string of curses running through my head. “Fuck you.”

His mouth folds in the corners. “Hm.”

There’s a shuffling behind me and heavy hands press into my shoulders, forcing my legs to buckle beneath the strength of the two soldiers who come up behind me. With gritted teeth and determination I feel Papa would be proud of, I attempt to hold my ground, but the effort only lasts so long before I too am on my knees, three feet away from Anastasia and the others. A barrel pokes into the back of my head.

The leader I’m presuming to be Vitale smiles in a cruel way. “Now that you understand your place…where is he?”

There’s only onehethis fucker, the one with the same accent, would be asking about, but with a blank expression, I blink up at him. “Who?”

“You know who I’m talking about.”

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